But, Literati, I see that I made it to finals
(I sleep with the judge)
I am inspired by Miryam Meier-Howard”s candor, that, and a single Sam Adams, so I thought I would, as O.J. Simpson failed to confess, give it a stab.
Here is my entry into the contest You Didn’t Write That
When my mother died. I did not shed a tear.
At her ceremony, I carried the urn of her ashes and our roles were at last reversed. She was the infant, cradled in my arms. I took her to the highest point on the Kona coast, there to scatter her ashes. My father was there, and told me on the way up the hill that he was thinking of importing a Korean wife.
Bruce and Lisa friends from Singapore and Borneo and friends still, accompanied me, and we found a hut to conduct the ceremony. Lisa played banjo. “Will the circle be unbroken?” A couple a New York Kikes, according to my father, didn’t realize we were conducting a service, and Bruce intercepted them to allow our privacy. Lisa is also a Kike, though not from New York, and maintained her dignity, controlled her disgust at my father, and continued to play as my drunken father did his best to make it all about him. He was, of course, in pain.
Years later, for complicated reasons, when I was told that he died my first words were “Thank God.” And not a tear.
When my past lover died over a year ago of her own hand. I was stunned, and could not cry, though was catatonic for weeks.
This changes everything.